Three years was a long time. A time of learning to let go, move on and start over. To piece back what’s left and find yourself again. To get busy and occupied. To know that you’re doing just fine all alone.
Three years was enough time. Enough to realise that through it all, the thought of you. Of us, came creeping back when I least expect it. Enough to notice that I’ve been shelving all these emotions because I never thought it would be possible. Enough to finally understand that the whole time, I’ve been doing it wrong. Enough pretence.
Three years was too short a time. Too short for sufficient personal growth. Too short to start believing again. Too short to hope for more. Too short for a new beginning.
So you wait for another three more years.
I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home.